Nadir
by speakupdarlingx
Summary: Nadir; noun; from Arabic. Means rock bottom./ Denmark thinks about the past.


This feeling wasn't new, the nation pondered to himself. No, it's been here the entire time. This feeling of the abandonment, the feeling of being unnecessary, and the feeling of being ancillary. When did these feelings first come forth? Was it when his family left? Or was it when Denmark realized he would never be the same person he was before, before he hit his nadir.

It was silent in the Danish nation's house. No noises, not even the soothing sound of water dripping in the sink, no laughter, no talking, just the calm nothingness of an empty, lonely household with only one person to call it a home. The extra rooms that were in the house's confinements were beginning to collect dust. The silence pained his heart. It was just another reminder that absolutely no one wanted – needed – him.

Denmark looked at the chair beside him. The chair where the person that made him the happiest of men used to sit. The chair was long forgotten by his beloved. He looked past the chair, and stared through the window. Outside the window, Denmark could see the ice that covered the water that divided him and his brother. The water was a reminder that he wasn't truly connected with the others in his family, he only proclaimed he was. That's what the bridges were for. The bridges were, in his mind, the land that connected the two. The land that said they were 'brothers'.

The snow outside reminded him of the winter memories in the back of his head. He remembered the sleeping close together, the hugging tightly to stay warm, the hand holding because their fingers were cold, and the picking him up like his bride because the snow was too deep for him to walk through. How he missed those memories, the memories that would never ever come back. The memories that were probably long lost by his family.

Denmark stared into the empty bottle into his hand. The blonde had drank all the liquor the bottle contained, in order to forget, but it wasn't working. The liquor was usually his only medication, the thing that made him feel better. Slowly, he stood up, and began making his way through the empty house. He walked softly, abandoning the stride he walked with normally. Upon his face was a frown. It had replaced his usually grin. His eyebrows were furrowed together. It was horrible to be lonely, all by yourself, especially when you just witnessed a family that was very close to you, welcome two children that would be loved unconditionally.

He cast a last gaze at the aforementioned chair. Denmark swore he saw his beloved, sitting there, staring at him with his dark blue eyes. Norway – his beloved – sat there with his legs crossed, both arms on the arm rest, and one propping his chin up. He rubbed his eyes, and blinked. The apparition was gone. Denmark felt his heart sink in his chest. He wished, just once, one of the illusions would be real. Anything to make the house feel less empty. He wouldn't even mind if it was his brother. Anyone would be okay. Anyone that would give him company in the cold, lonely house would make it a lot better. He shook his head, and gripped one hand around the stair's banister.

Quietly, Denmark climbed the stairs. The blonde stared down at his feet. He walked down the hallway, until he found the door he was looking for. Silently, he twisted the door knob, and stepped into the room. He closed the door, and glanced around the room. Silky dark red sheets hung off the bed, accompanied by white pillows. Denmark made his way to the bed and sat down on it, softly, trying not to mess up the silk. Denmark laid his head down on the pillows, and breathed in deeply. It smelt of his beloved, mildew, and dust. He rolled over.

Memories of wrapping his arms around his beloved, pulling him close against his bare chest, and whispering sweet words into his ear flooded back. Denmark remembers this bedroom very well. He remembers the forbidden touches and kisses, the soft words that should have never been uttered. He smirks slightly, remembering one of his fonder memories. He remembers the small hand whose fingers were laced with his own. He remembers the soft voice, telling him he loved him, telling him he'd never leave him. He remembers how he promised his beloved that he would always protect him, always be by his side, no matter what happened. He remembered whispering, "Even if you hate me, I'll always remain yours."

He snapped back to reality, and shook his head. "Those days are gone, Denmark! Snap out of it!" Denmark yelled at himself, trying to make himself forget. He sat up, and flipped his legs so they were placed on the floor on the side of the bed. "Fuck!" He growled to himself. He buried his face in his hands and his shoulders shook. His fingers were getting moist from the tears falling down his cheeks. He sniffled quietly, and used the palms of his hands to wipe his eyes. He sighed, and stared down at the floor. Quietly, he stood up and walked out the room, leaving all the memories in the room for another day.


End file.
